


Memories

by GroovyMutations



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: But they do talk about it, I don't wanna trigger anyone, I should mention that this has mentions of Newt's suicide attempt, It's not in detail, M/M, So you should know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4861454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GroovyMutations/pseuds/GroovyMutations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt and Thomas are the only ones awake, and they get to talking about old times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories

All he could smell was sand from the Scorch, and the stench that came in waves from both him and Newt. The two of them laid closer together than the rest of their friends, having claimed that closeness would protect from the weather that was sure to hit at any time. Thomas couldn’t see more than a few inches in front of him, the darkness complete apart from a sliver of moonlight that fell across Newt’s face, making his brown eyes seem liquid. The pair laid on their sides, facing each other. Thomas’ arm was stretched out under his head, used as a pillow on the hard ground. Newt had his backpack tucked under his neck, one arm wrapped tightly around his body. Their free hands met in the middle of the space between them, fingers brushing lightly over palms, thumbs tracing circles over knuckles. Their voices were hushed, the darkness forcing them to near silence; they’d had too many bad experiences in the dark to find it in themselves to speak up.

“It feels like it’s been months since the Maze, not days.”

“I don’t know about that, Tommy. You were only in there for a few days, the rest of us were there for years. Proportionally, the Scorch is nothing to the Maze.” Thomas heard no bitterness in Newt’s voice as he responded.

“I always forget that you guys were there longer than I was.” They’d all grown so close so quickly that it was hard to remember that their experiences had been very different. 

“Yeah, well, we had more fun without you.”

“You’re so full of shit, Newt.” 

Thomas could tell that Newt was about to laugh at this, though he bit it back before he woke their friends. Newt’s grip tightened on Thomas’s hand as he did so. “I’m serious. You came in and screwed everything up. We had everything under control, and then you came up in that bloody box, and you ruined everything.” His words were a little too reminiscent of Gally’s in the last few days. “We could’ve lasted months, maybe even years before you showed up.” Thomas wasn’t meeting Newt’s eyes anymore, a sense of guilt curling its talon’s around his stomach. He knew he was the reason that they were in this mess, knew that he was the reason they no longer lived with some sort of comfort, knew that he was the reason they’d watched so many of their friends—no, their brothers—die. It was something that had gnawed at Thomas since Gally had first voiced the words, and now that guilt rose to the surface when he heard them spoken by Newt.

Voice revealing the extent of his guilt, Thomas replied, “I’m sorry. I know we’re stuck out here because of me. I know Chuck died saving me, and that Gally wouldn’t have died if it wasn’t for me. You’d all still be safe in the Maze, with supplies and shelter, if it wasn’t for me. So, yeah, I’m sorry.” He wanted to pull his hand away, to turn on his side and let the self-pity sink in, to let Newt be angry at him without Thomas having to see it, but Newt’s grip on his hand had not loosened, and he didn’t want to be the one to pull away.

“Tommy, you know I was joking, right? You know we wouldn’t be anywhere without you, right?” The weight on Thomas’ chest didn’t lift, though it seemed to lighten ever so slightly with Newt’s words. “C’mon, that place was horrible. Sure, it seems better than out here, on the surface.” Thomas’ throat tightened as Newt pulled his hand away, but he calmed when he felt it touch his chin lightly, lifting his face so he’d have to look at Newt. “Out here, Tommy, we’re making progress. We’re heading to a better life, towards freedom, and that’s so much better than the confinement of the bloody Maze. And you know who got us here, Tommy?” Thomas nodded. “You did.” Newt jabbed Thomas’ chest lightly with his finger, though the force was hard enough to get his point across. 

“But-”

“No, no buts. It sucks we had to lose some people on the way, but they all knew what they were giving it all up for. They all believed in this, in you, so don’t give me this self-pity shit because you haven’t earned it. You hear me?” Thomas sucked in a breath and nodded, though it took some effort. He knew, really, that he was justified in all that he did, but he couldn’t help but to overthink it. Hearing Newt’s words, though, helped to reassure him in the cause. “Good, now change the subject, shank.” He concluded his argument by placing his hand back in Thomas’ and touching his slender fingers to Thomas’ wrist.

Thomas laid there for a moment, watching Newt’s eyes move between Thomas and the sky, and then asked, "Do you remember anything? From before, I mean.”

“Before the Maze? I guess I remember concepts, but, no, I can’t remember the real things.”

“Concepts?”

“Mm, like I know I had a best friend, and I remember having parents.”

“But they’re not clear to you.” This was not a question. Thomas’ voice was sad, knowing exactly what Newt meant when he said he couldn’t remember his parents. He gave a soft sigh, one that bled with longing, as he pressed his palm to Newt’s, aligning their hands and noting that the other boys’ fingers were much longer than his own. The touch was soft, reassuring.

“Not really, no. Though I do get pieces sometimes.” The statement came out with a sense of confusion, like Newt had no idea why he was allowed pieces of the past back, if not the whole thing. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like my mom, for example. I think I remember her dropping me off at WICKED, at the train station where they picked us up.” Uncertainty rang in his voice as he spoke, and it made Thomas sad to hear. “She didn’t cry, not until I couldn’t see her anymore. I just remember hearing her whispering to herself while they carried me away, but that’s it really. The rest of that day is gone, and so are my other memories of her.” Newt’s gaze was sharp as he looked at Thomas, contrasting the shake of his voice. Thomas watched as Newt pulled his hand away to scrub it quickly over his face, whether from exhaustion or frustration, he wasn’t sure, though he suspected it was both. Thomas wiggled his fingers for a second, requesting that Newt return his hand to Thomas’s grip, and smiled as he did. Softly, he ran his thumb up the side of Newt’s hand, doing his best to provide comfort in the touch.

“But what about you?” Newt asked. “Do you remember your parents?”

Thomas nodded wearily, his eyes moving from Newt’s face to their hands. His brows creased, expression slightly pained. “Like you said, I think I remember pieces of my mother. Not so much of what she looked like, or any specific moment, but… I just remember being loved by her.” Being stung in the Maze had given Thomas back his memories from WICKED, but he had to strain to remember what came before. Usually, he would be right on the cusp of memory, but it would quickly fade from his grasp. Thus, everything seemed incomplete. All he remembered of his mother was a soft smile, and a general sense of wonder that he had once felt over the love she showed for him. Really, it all made him nostalgic, and that made him both want to find the other memories and push them as far down as he could. It all seemed to be a constant internal struggle, one that resulted in unfinished recollections from long ago.

Pulled from his reverie as Newt’s fingers brushed over his, Thomas smiled ruefully, happy in this moment, but mourning the times he no longer had. Newt returned the smile, though it held more sadness to it, and the boys twined their fingers together between them. For a moment, the only sounds were those of the wind, the breathing of their friends, and their own heartbeats, loud against the quiet of the night.

Thomas broke the silence. “What about your best friend?”

Newt took a moment to consider how much to share before responding. “I don’t remember his name, but I know he had dark brown hair and a face full of freckles. I’ll see parts of him when we’re walking out here, but it all just feels like a faroff daydream.”

“How do you know it’s not, then?”

“Because it’s nothing I could come up with on my own.” Newt let out a breathy laugh, his statement cynical. “It’s all sunlight and buildings that still have a roof to them, then a laugh I don’t remember ever hearing and a smile brighter than I’ve ever seen. I don’t know—it fades too quickly for me to get any more from it. Just…” Newt shook his head, refusing to meet Thomas’ eyes. 

“Just what?” Thomas shifted Newt’s hand, palm up, out of his, and traced the lines on his fingers. 

“I just get a sense of happiness when I see him.” His voice was quieter than before, far off. His hand was still under Thomas’ touch. “Like, with the images, I get back a piece of how I felt before the Maze, and that’s why I know it’s not a dream, Tommy. Because I know I couldn’t just dream up that sort of happiness now.” 

The statement caused Thomas to go still, his eyes lifting away from Newt’s face and coming to rest worriedly on the starless sky above them. He knew that they were all miserable from their time with WICKED, but Newt especially so. It hurt to hear Newt state his lack of true happiness aloud, though Thomas believed he had known even before Newt stated it. Still, he cared for the boy before him, more than he could remember caring for anyone else, so the thought that happiness was only an idea to Newt was a hard one to swallow.   
Both boys were quiet for a while, both lost in their own thoughts, their hands going limp in each other’s as they considered what to say next. Thomas didn’t feel right changing the subject, believing that it would come off as insensitive, but he wasn’t sure that Newt wanted to continue on this track. Eventually, his mind fell silent, apart from registering the constant sound of Newt’s breathing beside him. It was a long time before the silence was broken.

“Tommy?”

“Mmm?”

“Did I ever tell you how I got my limp?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Thomas’ eyes moved back to Newt’s face, noting the way the moon transformed his features, and in that moment, Thomas was sure he had never seen someone look so sad.

“I tried to kill myself in the Maze. Climbed halfway up one of those bloody walls and jumped right off.” 

The statement was so blunt, the world seemed to stop with the end of Newt’s sentence. Thomas’ breathing caught in his throat, and he couldn’t help but picture it. Newt, half mad, climbing the ivy that lined the Maze in the middle of the night, hoping no one would come to stop him, to save him. Newt, half mad, holding tight to anything that kept him safe against the wall as he talked himself into it. Newt, half mad, squeezing his eyes shut and cursing himself for being a coward. Newt, half mad, finally letting go and tumbling forward. Newt, half mad, hitting the ground with a thud and an unintentional shout of pain as his ankle broke. Newt, half mad, fighting against Alby and the other Gladers as they pulled him to the hospital tent to heal his wounds. Newt, half mad, hating himself and hating WICKED and hating the Maze, but mostly hating Alby and Minho and Gally for pulling him to safety instead of letting him slip slowly out of his misery. 

The world resumed as it had been before, though everything had changed. Thomas’ eyes refocused, though he had to blink tears from his them in order to look at Newt. It was hard to see this boy as someone who had attempted to take his own life, even harder to consider that Newt might not have moved on from that impulse. All Thomas wanted to do was reach out and touch his face, if only to make sure that Newt was still the same Newt he had been a moment before, but he settled for gripping the boy’s hand, his hold tight like it might keep Newt anchored to this world, to this life. 

“I’m sorry, Newt,” he said softly, voice cracking as he spoke.

“You’ve no reason to be, Tommy.” Newt was gentle in voice, though his grip on Thomas’ hand was rough enough to reveal the storm inside of him. “It is what it is. What’s done is done.”

“I’m still sorry.” The apology wasn’t for his own actions, but for the actions of the world, for the damn universe aligning in such a way that had led Newt to grasp for a too final solution.

“Don’t be.” His voice was as rough as his touch then, though it held the utmost sincerity. 

Without a further word, Newt used his hold on Thomas' hand to pull the other boy to him, Thomas responding by rolling to his other side and moving into the shape of Newt's body. They laid there in silence, comfort coming in touch rather than words, and though both of their heads rang with different thoughts, they found some small bit of peace in each other.


End file.
